Love on the Battlefield
by Jessica C. Malfoy
Summary: In the year 2005, the battle between the Light and the Dark still raging on with as much force as it ever was, unlikely friendships form between allies. Will they finally be able to overcome the thing that had destroyed so many others that preceded them?
1. Unlikely Beginnings

**Title:** Love on the Battlefield (1/?)

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Author: Jessica C. Malfoy

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E-mail: JessicaCMalfoy@aol.com

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Category: Schnoogle

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Genre: Romance/General/Drama

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Keywords: Severus, Dumbledore, Harry, Hermione, Ron, OC, Sinistra, Voldemort, Draco

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Rating: PG-13

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Spoilers: All

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Summary: In the year 2005, the battle between the Light and the Dark still raging on with as much force as it ever was, unlikely friendships form between allies. Will they finally be able to overcome the thing that had destroyed so many others that preceded them?

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

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Author's Note: Thanks goes out to Sara, who taught me several things – although she doesn't know that – by beta-ing this fanfic and showing me exactly what I was doing wrong. And Cal, you will be a beta in later chapters, or whenever you have free time again – they don't call me stubborn for nothing.

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Chapter 1

Unlikely Beginnings

Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards of our time and headmaster of one of the most renowned schools of witchcraft in the world, contemplated his staff from across the table. His eyes had gained lines, but seemed to have lost their once merry twinkle, and his beard had grown a few feet and badly needed some care. They were in their 1st official meeting, planning exactly what they would have to do now in the year of 2005, not only for what would occur at Hogwarts, but things that served other purposes. Harry Potter had graduated a few years before and instead of easing the minds of the Professors, and instead of reliving them of the idea of the Dark Lord coming to Hogwarts, only added worry to them. 

The scope of their worry was apparent in the dullness of their eyes and the rapidly growing strands of gray in their hair. The past year had been hard on all of them, what with the losses from parents pulling students out of Hogwarts, not to mention the deaths at the hands of You-Know-Who. 

The once proud school barely had more then 25 students per year now. This was nothing compared to the much larger numbers before all of the chaos and destruction was set loose upon the land.

His eyes looked to each of the spots, several of them now empty. Rudra Sprout, gone to Canada to collect and study some newly discovered magical plants; Severus Snape, away on a spying mission; Fillius Flitwick, gone to gain allies in the Middle East; and Artemis Sinistra, gone to convince the centaurs and other magical creatures to join them. 

Professor Lupin had returned, permanently teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, due to lack of applicants and for his own safety. He sat in his chair, idly rolling a quill between his fingers, waiting for the meeting to begin.

"As you all know," Albus began in a monotone, "the years have been hard on us, but we must not give up. We are responsible for countless lives and the future of our very world is at risk if we fail.

"Some of you are aware that the other members of the staff have gone on extensive missions for me, and one day you too will be called upon. Some are needed more than others, but you all have been helping just by teaching your students the way of life we all cherish."

Professor Binns, looked up at Albus, I have seen many different things occur in history. Many of them are repetitive, and this is just one example." 

Albus sighed. Binns had mentioned this countless times at each of the meetings – year after year -, but would never tell anyone exactly what was repeating itself. Who knew how long it would take for them to research and to find out what he was on about. Meanwhile they would lose more members of their side to the Dark. It was time they couldn't afford to waste.

"Professor, can you tell us what this is?"

"I would if I think it was permissible, Headmaster, but it is not. Time will reveal it and until then I will not say."

If Albus had been a young man, full of stubborn pride and a temper to match, he would have hit something, but he was not that. He was old, and growing weaker with each passing day, knowing that there wasn't a member of his staff ready to take on the responsibility of leading the Light in this ferocious battle. Instead of reacting with anger, he merely nodded, "Then pray that the time will come soon. I fear that we do not have much left."

* * *

At the same time, deep underground in downtown London, there was another meeting being held. Barely anyone could be seen in the dimness of the light with the occasionally spot of light that could temporarily blind a person if they were looking directly into it.

One figure was slowly walking back and forth at the head of the table while other forms and figures were doing the same to the sides and other places of the room. One would think that they would bump into one another or into a table of some sort, but they did not. They had been in here too many times to make such foolish mistakes. 

A few moments later, a few candles lit themselves, revealing a serious looking wizard with untidy black hair, green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead at the head of the table. Also revealed was a young looking witch with shoulder-length brown hair, held back in a pony tail, close to a tall wizard with red hair. The three of them nodded, and the other wizards and witches all took their places at the table, in silence.

"Harry," A nervous looking wizard with brown hair began. "Early this morning we received more news about the Death Eater attacks. Apparently," he looked at a middle-aged witch who was simply raising her eyebrows at him, "the Death Eaters have not only received the support of giants, but of other creatures as well."

Harry drummed his fingers on the table, "Well, what are they, John?"

"That's the thing, Harry. We don't know what they are or where they came from. I believe Special Agent Jones reported that they looked like a cross between angry Veela and a phoenix."

"So, You-Know-Who has been cross breeding magical creatures for his own uses?" asked Hermione, who stopped twirling a stray strand of brown hair that had fallen out of her pony tail.

"That or there's now some dangerous magical creatures we need to go discover," replied another wizard who looked to be in his late 40's. 

"We really don't have all that many people to spare, nor do we have the funding or the ability to make sure that they can get back to us. That sounds like a suicide mission," added the wizard with red hair, Ron, shooting a glance at Harry, who nodded at him.

"Is there any other news about the attacks?" Harry cut in, looking around at the wizards and witches seated at the table. They were said to be the finest of their trades and would somehow pull off a victory, hopefully with all of their limbs intact. A few had multiple talents, but they – and it wasn't as if there were Unspeakables that were just roasting marshmallows over their fires - still needed more people to aide them in their crusade.

"Harry, when I said other creatures, I mean that there is more then just…"

Harry opened his mouth for a second before taking in a deep breath, "And what else is there?"

John started to reply, but was cut short by the running entrance of Neville Longbottom. He hadn't changed much since his Hogwarts days. His face was thinner and an expression of panic was stretched across his face, "H-H—Harry," he stuttered, "Another attack. Now. Hogsmeade."

Harry looked at Neville, and nodded. "Okay, we go to Hogsmeade. Hermione, Ron, you two go to the entrance and keep others from entering. John, you go and find Anthony and cover the outer side next to Muggle London. The rest of you," Harry stared looking at the ones who he did not directly address, "divide up the shops and go," with each statement, the specified wizard or witch Disapparated out of the room, leaving Harry and Neville in there.

"Who alerted you, Neville?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Harry. You know, we need to team up with Dumbledore again; we can't keep on having you two split apart and such. There is only so much we can do, before we're going to need their advice and skills."

Harry reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a pair of his glasses, with a thin frame and then looked at Neville.

"Perhaps we may join up with them again, one day. But I highly doubt that, Neville. The trench is deep between us and the water is deep and raging. I can not see any way for us to cross it without drowning." Harry said, looking at Neville, and slowly shook his head. Deep inside, he knew that he couldn't lead them to victory – alone – but he had to try to prove himself; to prove that he was more then just a name. To prove that he really was a great wizard. 

* * *

When Harry and Neville arrived at Hogsmeade, it was hardly recognizable. Teams of Aurors had also been dispatched to put out fires and search for missing persons, despite the fact that there were Dark Marks floating over most of the houses and shops in this busy town.

Harry saw a few members of his team trying to sift through the rubble that was once Zonko's. A few others were walking around, supervising other wizards who were in the area.

If he were still the naïve boy he'd been at 15, he would have shuddered at the thought of his older self being able to view the scene without having his stomach turn or flinch. What was worse, he knew that he couldn't have stopped it. None of his team members had the 'Sight', if such a thing did exist. He admitted that even though his years of Divination had been quite useless, the experience always made him think of all of the possible ways to go and how to sometimes avoid them. Although, he still couldn't enjoy a good plate of fish and chips without checking to make sure that there wasn't anything in there that would cut his windpipe, as one of his teacher's predictions had foretold.

These scenes, despite the fact that they had been appearing for almost seven years - since Harry's 6th year - still bothered Neville. It was readable on his face, and his hands grew clammy, although he quickly shoved them in his cloak pocket. 

"They must have been caught earlier then usual," Harry mused and Neville nodded faintly in agreement. Harry hardly took notice of it. In fact, looking in his eyes, it was as if he was in his own little world; his voice and mind were acting as narrator to some unknown person traveling through that it.

"There are only a few places not burning or marked. Yes… Neville, who alerted you?"

"It was via owl, Harry," Neville nervously began. "I'd recognize the handwriting anywhere, for..." Here he paused.

"Well, get on with it. We don't have all day here."

"It was Malfoy."

"Which one?"

"Draco."

Harry looked at Neville with a sense of wonderment. Draco Malfoy? The Draco Malfoy who had put him through such hell all during their Hogwarts years, helping him? The Draco Malfoy who was, supposedly, right-hand man to Lord Voldemort?

"Neville, are you positive?"

"Harry, it had his official seal on it."

Harry looked downwards at the street and kicked a rock, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Silently, he cursed everything to the stars and back, and it definitely showed his creative side. Surely, Neville had to be mistaken about Malfoy. There was no possible way that…that Draco Malfoy would actually aid them without pulling something behind their backs. 

His mind was trying to come up with some possible way that this could be a trap and the downfall of the entire Light side and with each possibility more outrageous then the previous, until he couldn't think straight. He looked over at Neville, who was nervously watching a team of Aurors pull sheets over bodies they had found in the rubble.

He would have to think of something to actually prove that this letter was from Malfoy. It just didn't make sense. Enemies didn't help enemies, not without killing them in the process. It was some un-spoken rule in the "Enemies: What to do and not do" handbooks that everyone seemed to understand, except for bloody Malfoy apparently.

"Neville, it could have easily been a forged seal," Harry started.

"Harry, you know there isn't any way you could copy a seal without the will of the one bearing the seals."

"Damn it, Neville! Are you sure there isn't some other possible way?"

"The only other way I can think of is that he was put under the Imperius, but then again that probably wouldn't affect him."

Harry sighed, for he knew this was true. He had seen other Aurors, bent on getting the Death Eaters with more then just the power of the law, use the Unforgivables. Usually, they didn't work or backfired on the caster, causing one hell of a bloody mess.

* * *

In a dark and wooded area, a tall figure covered by dark billowing robes and mask painfully leaned against a tree, it's breathing ragged and labored.

A shout was heard, somewhere in the woods, but the figure paid no attention to it whatsoever. Slowly, the figure's knees gave out, a slow descent from the above. It landed with a 'thud' and a belated groan escaped its lips, only hinting at the pain the fall had caused. Slowly, the figure rolled onto its back, its face staring at the dark sky, faintly lit by the stars and the distant planets.

It lay there for only a few minutes, before clutching it's left forearm curling into the fetal position. A faint cry was heard from the figure, one that should have been loud and forceful but instead was weak and hardly above a whisper.

Occasionally, it tightened its grip on its arm, as if instead of fading away, the pain only intensified.

Shakily, it reached up to the sleeve of its robe, revealing cuts, bruises, and scars in the process, to pull out a wand spell-o-taped in several different places. Slowly, the figure pointed the wand upward, started to mutter a spell. Halfway through the unfinished incantation, it knew nothing, forevermore. 

* * *

Deep inside the heart of Hogwarts, chaos reigned. House-elves were scurrying around, shouting incomprehensible things, when they had enough air in their lungs to support it. Even the ghosts were running - err, quickly floating – from room to room in a slight state of panic.

Sibyl Trelawney was coming down the stairs like a princess entering the ballroom, taking out a pair of very fine-rimmed glasses to put on. She rather thought they gave her a very educated and formal look. Gently, she put the index and forefinger of her left hand on her left temple, and closed her eyes in peaceful bliss, despite the current situation.

She remained like that for a few moments before she snapped her eyes open, alarmed. For a brief second, fear and panic struck her eyes in a forceful blow, but in the next second it was gone, not a trace of it to be found. It was soon replaced by glee.

"You have finally revealed yourself to me, sly one," she thought out loud. "It's too bad, really. We could have run everything and everyone, but you were too stupid. Too stupid to realize anything," she continued and her head snapped up to the door that led to the Great Hall.

Light footsteps sounded, and Sibyl's eyes grew in size. A small smirk crossed her face, in recognition, as Albus Dumbledore entered the corridor.

"Evening, Headmaster."

"Evening, Sibyl. Have you seen anything lately?"

Sibyl studied his face, which was etched with worry and urgency. The flickering torch a few feet away from them cast shadows and outlined their faces.

"I'm afraid that my Inner Eye has been over-used lately, Headmaster. I hope it clears soon. I hate to think that who-knows-what could happen, and it would be my fault for not seeing it or giving you any information."

"Calm down, Sibyl. It has never been your fault. You had aided us countless of times. You must not blame yourself for only being human."

Sibyl looked up at Albus, her eyes glassy, and gave a weak smile, "I will try to remember that." 

* * *

Rudra Sprout was happily content up in the warm greenhouse at Eaglesbeak, Canada. It was a Canadian version of Hogsmeade, only with snow and freezing temperatures and constant rain instead of warm weather and clear skies. She was almost done categorizing several newly discovered magical plants. Not only did she enjoy the job, she was also the only British Professor allowed to touch the plants. That would be enough to boost any specialist's ego up a couple of notches.

When she wasn't observing or working with the plants, her thoughts always led her back to the place she had considered her home for many years: Hogwarts. Hogwarts really wasn't Hogwarts, without the ever so colorful staff, from the strict Minerva, cynical Severus, the jolly Fillius, and death-predicting Sibyl to the sweet Remus, cold Artemis…

She sighed at the thought of poor Artemis, one of the first ones to turn cold when You-Know-Who first appeared with his attacks. Just the thought of it still brought puzzling questions into her mind. Nothing about it made any sense. Why they were targeted and why others weren't the first ones to become the victims. Surely, it wasn't because of her bloodline, for she was purer then most magical folk these days. Unless, her mother…

She was brutally yanked out of her thoughts by, "Rudra Sprout! Fireplace," in a Canadian voice, that annoyed her to no end as did the word "eh", the most commonly used word in Canada.

Slowly getting up, leaving her thoughts behind, she left for the fireplace, leaving the home she was safe in.

* * *

She stood in front of a courtroom, the left side of her face covered in shadows. She had ice-green eyes and almost knee length raven colored hair. From the side view, it seemed as if she was absorbing the entire room, not overlooking a single detail. 

Cornelius Fudge, Alastor Moody, and other important Officials of the Ministry of Magic were seated before her, simply staring at her as if they could read her thoughts. 

"Tell us what you're here for, girl," Moody snarled in an irritable tone of voice. "We don't have all night to listen to you."

His magical eye looked at her hard, as if she was about to fade away and he wanted to take in every single detail about her with a single glance.

She turned her head and looked, briefly, around the room, which was used in all trials involving Death Eaters. Or at least, what they called a 'trial'.

"I was told that I should report here first, Moody. Don't pick a damn bone with me. Do that with Dumbledore, the one who gave me my orders."

"Then who are you?"

"I shall not say that. My name is unimportant, thus I should not state it. Nor can I give you any particulars on why I am here. Even I don't know the reason myself," she replied coldly.

"Then what _can_ you tell us?" Fudge questioned.

"Tell Dumbledore that all has failed," she simply said before spinning around and leaving them with confusion hovering over their heads.

"Well, Minister, do you even know who that was?"

"Not a clue, Moody. Is it one of Dumbledore's spies? Rank? Staff? Ally?" 

* * *

Harry slowly shut and locked the door of his cottage, situated a few kilometers from the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He instantly felt himself relax as the smell of very dirty laundry and of the woods in his backyard overtook his senses. He needed to clean up the place, he thought, noting the occasional robe strewn across a piece of furniture and the dirty dishes on the bar as well as the ones piled in the sink. Mrs. Weasley would have a heart attack if she ever saw it.

She wouldn't though. Even though they were on good terms and he visited them on the majority of the big holidays, it was Ginny that changed everything between them. His mind went back five years into the past, when he was still somewhat fresh out of Hogwarts and perfectly content to relax on the couch between near-death experiences with Voldemort. 

They had appeared to be a very loving couple, and like most couples of their age, lived together in this cottage that Harry found at the end of his 7th year.

Alas, darling Ginny had been keeping a terrible secret. It was one that forever changed her life not only once, but twice. In her 6th year, Ginny had decided to look into some Dark Magic, which lead her to the Dark Arts. It had all started out as mere research on how she could help her friends – Harry in particular – against all of this nonsense that was happening in the real word. But like so many others before her, it had sucked her into its grasp and never let her go.

All of her grades rapidly rose, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts; which she simply explained away by telling her friends and family she just wanted to know how to protect herself. Many students had that reason for studying extra hard. It was common knowledge that Voldemort would be after Harry, who was currently in his last year at Hogwarts.

Right under all of their noses, Ginny Weasley had turned into a Death Eater. 

It pained all of the Weasleys and the ones who'd known her best to think of how she changed so dramatically from Light to Dark, Good to Bad, and had known exactly what she was doing.

Harry, particularly, blamed himself for not paying closer attention to her in his last year at Hogwarts. "You couldn't have managed to pay more attention to her, Harry! If you had, you might as well have glued yourselves together," Ron had cried one night while Harry was throwing himself a pity-party. He had hoped that she was just under the Imperius curse, but her trial shattered that dream forever.

The look in her eyes haunted him, and her cries echoed deeply within his mind…

_Courtroom 1, Department B, was where the trials for Death Eaters always took place and today was no exception._

The trial taking place today was clearly one of the most talked about in months. The only daughter of one of the most Anti-Dark families was accused of supporting the Dark Lord. Not to mention that she was currently dating – and living with – The-Boy-Who-Lived himself.

The courtroom was loud with noisy occupants, discussing whether or not she really was a Death Eater. Some were even taking bets on the trial's outcome. However, one section was quiet, glaring at the noisy crowd. None other than the Weasleys occupied that section.

Up at the Head Table sat Fudge, Dumbledore, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and a few other Department Heads. 

After a few more minutes of constant chatter, the entrance at the back swung open, revealing a woman barely in her twenties with tangled flaming red hair, a Dementor on either side of her. Slowly – the Dementors probably made it slow - they made their way up to the front of the room past the silent rows of wizards and witches who clutched their cloaks around themselves.

The Dementors silently left and the room rose a few degrees in temperature. The woman looked up at the table. A cold glare was all she gave.

"Miss Weasley," began Fudge. "You were brought to this court because of evidence linking you to the service of You-Know-Who."

Ginny looked up at him as if he was a particularly nasty bug.

"Well, what do you plea in your defense?"

Ginny rolled her eyes at the thought of her trying to 'defend' herself, before staring at him like he had grown another head. Her eyes darted about the room, as if realizing that she was trapped in here like a wild animal that had fallen into a hunter's trap.

"Defense! I have no defense!"

Moody looked over to Dumbledore, who was looking down, sadly shaking his head, then over to the Weasleys. Some of them were shocked at her outburst while Mrs. Weasley sobbed onto Mr. Weasley's shoulder.

"You want me to beg for my life? Ha! You will be the ones begging for the Dark Lord's mercy! You all will pay! Pay!" Ginny screamed, her cries hoarse and broken. Like a wild animal, she was moving about with each battle cry.

"Miss Weasley, have you no shame?" asked a weary Dumbledore.

"Shame?!" Ginny cried, looking taken back, "Why in Merlin's name would I be ashamed?"

"Miss Weasley, look at your family," Dumbledore stated and gestured to the section of red headed Weasleys.

"They are no longer my family. I have only my brothers and sisters, united for our Master's cause."

"Then would you be as kind as to give us some of your siblings' names?" Moody asked slowly, with a hint of being sarcastic, drawing out each word – as if wanting the sounds of it to echo for eternity in this very room.

"Never. Throw me to the Dementors if you want, but I'll never betray the Dark Lord for the likes of you!" With the last statement, she cast a long and cold stare at Harry who was looking away at a spot at the wall.

"Then I sentence you to a life in Azkaban," Fudge said with a note of finality.

Ginny smiled, "When Master rules, remember that I am the one who will be crushing your heads," she exclaimed before the Dementors took their spots by her sides and escorted her out of the courtroom, never to be seen by the public eye again.

The rest of that night was still a blur to Harry. All he could remember was being hugged by a sobbing Molly Weasley before going home to get rid of everything of Ginny's and to have the cry he so desperately needed. 

Sighing, Harry went to his bedroom, tossed the pile of laundry off the foot of the bed and slid into another uneasy night full of haunting nightmares, full of horrible memories of the past and the possibilities of their grim future.

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	2. Forbidden Dreams and Forbidden Calls

**Title:** Love on the Battlefield (02/?)  
**Author name:** JessicaCMalfoy  
**Author email:** JessicaCMalfoy@aol.com  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Romance  
**Keywords:** Sinistra Snape Post-Hogwarts Harry Draco  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB  
**Summary:** In the year 2005, the battle between the Light and the Dark still raging on with as much force as it ever was, unlikely friendships form between allies. Will they finally be able to overcome the thing that had destroyed so many others that preceded them?  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Thanks is sent out to Beth for beta-ing this chapter and getting it back to me at lightning speed, and for her literally ripping it apart. There are references to the Greek Gods in this chapter, one of them being "Artemis". If you are confused by this, this is because I don't know of anybody - or any group - that continues to worship them and they are slowly being forgotten about. And also, the next chapter will not be out for a while due to I'm going to be gone - unfortunately - and away from my computer that has everything that I need on it. Oh yes, reviews are always welcomed.

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Frequent Calls and Forbidden Dreams 

Ronald Weasley paced in front of his fireplace; a few beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face, landing on the polished oak floor. "It's okay, old boy," he told himself reassuringly, "she's been late before. It's not like it's a deadly sin. No, not a sin. She's just running late. That's all."

He looked over to the grandfather clock, similar to the one at the Burrow, to see the name "Hermione Granger" at the "Traveling" placement. He scrunched his eyebrows together. Surely… What was taking her so bloody long?

Ron heard a faint 'pop' from the back of the living room and spun around to see Hermione Granger, blushing and wearing a weak smile.

"…Like the new place, Ron," Hermione noted as she cast her gaze around the room to escape looking into Ron's eyes. It was true though; Ron's last flat had been a complete disaster area, and that was before he moved in. Apparently, he hadn't inherited the cleaning gene from his mother, but instead was just a typical male living on his own.

"Yeah, it's suiting my needs quite nicely," Ron said though his face scrunched up as he looked to the left wall and saw that once again his ivies were growing a bit rapidly for his liking. The room was simple, with the occasional box that still needed unpacking, two chairs, a loveseat, and a longer-then-usual couch. The walls were a wondrous shade of off-white that seemed enchanted to make the room look its best at all times.

Even the carpet, a light shade of blue, seemed to be bewitched to keep itself clean. Though it would prove that the past occupant was either a neat freak or a single male that needed more help then he thought when it came to housework.

Unsteadily as she straightened out the sleeve that had been turned upright, Hermione began "So, how has everything been?"

To the outsider, it might seem as if they hardly knew one another, but in fact they had known each other, for better or for worse, since they were eleven years old. Both were sorted into the house of the lion, Gryffindor. It was simple things that set either of their tempers off, causing it to make quite a commotion during the end of terms when stress was running high, and it aided in the uncertainty that was evident in both of their voices.

"'Mione," Ron said, calling her by her pet name that he hadn't used in years, "let's just skip the questioning and just sit down and maybe have a drink."

Hermione looked up at Ron, who was still in his Unspeakable robes (which were really just the same as the Aurors only with more pockets) and simply nodded.

"Splendid," Ron said with a bit too much enthusiasm, going from the living room into the kitchen, complete with a bar.

"Um, Ron," Hermione shakily started, following him, "I just want to talk. That's it. Just talk."

Ron looked at her and then put the glasses back in their places on the cabinet. "Is something bothering you? Or is it something that Harry unknowingly did that set you off like this?"

"No, no, it's not Harry. Or at least I don't think it's Harry," Hermione said slowly, sinking onto a barstool. Ron looked at her with a concerned eye, trying to remember if he had done something that would have caused this reaction. It wasn't like Hermione to owl him at the last minute about her coming over and then show up late for the meeting that she had called.

"Well, do you want anything to eat?"

"Nah, if I do, I'll end up eating more then talking and I really need to talk," Hermione said, running her fingers along the edge of the marble top of the bar, feeling the edges where one piece ended and another began. She looked up at Ron, pleading with her eyes for him to sit down and to listen. Just listen and not interrupt her till the very end, unlike how their chats usually went and she hardly ever finished what she was saying about several different topics.

"Well," Ron said, striding over to sit next to her, "you can talk right now."

Hermione looked at him. He was one of her best friends and now… She sharply reminded herself that although the times had changed dramatically, he was still her friend and she could trust him enough to confide in.

"It all started back, I'd say a year or so before that trial took place," she started, not mentioning Ginny's name. It was an unspoken rule that nobody ever mentioned her name, for it was almost as if she didn't even exist anymore and in some ways, she didn't. "That all of the Death Eaters started getting really active again. So many people were put to work for the Ministry, and the heads ruled that everybody had to become Aurors…all of the departments being trained for things that they wouldn't be an asset to.

"I mean, it was fine for you and Harry for because you were already Aurors, but, Ron… People like me; we don't belong out there in the battlefield. We belong behind our own lines, searching for patterns and telling you all what they could strike next, like a warning. And then today was worse then my first day of training. It was worse, Ron. That was one of the most horrible days that I've ever experienced, and yet today was worse."

Ron promptly nodded in understanding, although he hoped that she was over-exaggerating about today. He faintly remembered his image of Hermione being strong and tough, which was shattered when she all but collapsed in his and Harry's arms when she met them to go out on the town after her first day in Auror training. That image of her was long lost now, even though Hermione had gone through things that were far worse and was selected to be part of Harry's team - which was rumored, and later proven true, to only allow the toughest wizards and witches in.

"We had several calls that were just from people being paranoid and then there was one where there was a murder, but instead of the killing curse, they… It was everywhere, Ron. Everywhere. And it was an Auror, from one of the lower teams."

As Ron watched Hermione, her words began to sound forced, and her eyes became glassy with unshed tears. He knew that she needed a hug, but his gut told him to leave her alone and let her talk before comforting her.

"I mean, how am I supposed to know that - ", she was interrupted by a sharp whistle and she looked up at Ron, demanding to know his response. It was in fact a system that filtered out the people that talked via the floo and set off an alarm if it was Harry or another person of their team. She only looked at him briefly before turning away and staring at the top of the bar again.

Ron sighed, for this only happened at the worst possible time, and slowly got up. "I'll be back soon," he murmured and kissed her forehead. "Make yourself at home, the box thing is in the next room and you know how to work it," he said, referring to the telly.

Hermione weakly nodded, "Be back soon."

She watched him grab his wand and the spare as he readied himself to go. He turned to the fireplace and reached over into the bag of floo powder that he had sitting on top of the mantle, and grabbed a pinch out of it.

It then struck her how alone she would be once Ron left and realized that surely her own flat had the same call, for they were on the same team after all. She sprung off the stool, "Ron, Wait!" She yelled as she hurriedly straighten out her robes once again, and caused Ron to look back at her with a puzzled glance.

"I'm coming too and don't you even dare think of leaving me behind ever again, Ronald Weasley," she said in a disapproving tone, with the old stubborn spirit gleaming in her eyes. "I'm part of the team too."

"But, Hermione, you're tired and you need a good night's rest. Just stay here and don't…come."

"Ron, has that worked before?"

"Well, no."

"Exactly, and you all probably need me as well. I'm coming and that is final."

Ron grinned, "This is what I thought you would do. You really do need to think about quitting that extra department that you're part of. You can't be torn in so many directions any more."

"Ron, you know perfectly well that I just can't quit that department, for -"

"Hermione, you're the only one on our team that hasn't."

Hermione looked up at him, questioning him with her eyes alone. They stood there for only a few brief moments before, "Alright, fine. I'll owl them tomorrow about it."

"That's my girl, Hermione. I knew you would come around."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Artemis Sinistra slowly trudged through the woods, shivering and wrapping herself more tightly in her slightly-too-large cloak. "Stupid Ministry," she trying to avoid stepping on twigs and leaves that would alert others to her presence.

"Why does Albus want me to come this way?" She mused to herself. The Centaurs still refused to help the side of the Light, - Albus Dumbledore and the Hogwarts staff in particular - even after she offered to study the stars with them and extended a couple of her most valuable books for their exchange of loyalty. Part of her was glad that the Centaurs hadn't accepted her offer, as she cherished those books the most and would have greatly missed them when she woke up at odd hours and didn't have them to read.

She nervously looked around the woods, trying to shake off the feeling that she was being followed, and she froze. A slight wind was blowing, causing her long raven hair to softly twirl about. The small hairs on her neck stood up as she took in the forest, her blood pounding in her ears. She heard several leaves rustling, but if it was the wind alone she didn't know. Part of her argued that she was being paranoid, while the other screamed for her to run.

She abruptly took her wand out, and against better judgment muttered, "Lumos". She looked around, but nothing out of the ordinary. Deciding that it was just from spending too many nights alone up on her Astronomy Tower deck with nothing but a nice cup of hot cocoa and her telescope, that had finally outdone her nerves. For now, she could not see what was going on around her.

She moved on, covering the sides of her face with her hair like a masked bandit, and hoping that the 'sign' Albus had told her that would be in this area would hurry up and come into view. She continued to walk until the full moon was overhead; the trees casting eerie shadows and making her nerves crash against one another.

"Isn't this ironic," she mused to herself, "that I'm scared of what my own name means." Soon, the trees grew closer and closer together, reminding her of how the Forbidden Forest looked.

She heard a rustle a few feet in front of her and stopped again, trying to listen or see what had caused the noise. If it was nothing, it might have been the wind or a small creature that wouldn't do her any harm. At least she hoped that the smaller animals didn't enjoy attacking Hogwarts' astronomy professors.

She soon heard it again and took a step backward, out of reflex alone. She heard another rustle behind her, and looked around, trying to figure out what was going on, and how to get out of the forest before she had no possible way out.

Quickly, she began to walk, faster and faster until she was almost to a mid-jog, when she stopped in absolute horror. It took her a second to fully realize what had happened, or at least what she saw. There could be no mistake for what it was: a form, lying in robes as black as the night, with a pale mask, holding a wand, and facing up into the sky. She took another step backward, trembling.

She backed into a very… warm tree? Before she could spin around, the 'tree' put its arm and hand in front of her, covering her mouth and blocking her scream, although there wasn't anybody around for miles.

The figure said in a very deep and silky voice, "Scream, and you will join the one who you were named after," before roughly pulling her far into the woods.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry Potter woke up, sweat covering his brow and his heart racing, with the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.

It had to be the fifth time he had woken up. Being pulled into the same nightmare, over and over again, only to slip back into the nightmare when he wasn't aware of him being pulling back into the dream world. Of course, then the terror would be set at him once again.

He tried desperately to keep a hold on the slipping details, but had no such result. He knew he had dreams, but once he woke up… It was like the all of the times before that he tried to remember his dreams, only to have them slip further and further away from his memory. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his temples, trying to ease the mental pain and shock.

"Harry," a voice called out, stretching out his name in a terrifying manner.

The sound of it sent shivers down his spine as he reached over to his nightstand, put on his glasses, and grabbed his wand. Surely nobody was in his flat? How did they get past all of the wards…

"I see you, Harry," the voice called out once again, this time not sending a chill down his spine. No, this time, it struck a cord deep inside of his very soul. Against his better judgment, he quietly swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood, trying to ignore the urge to jump back up due to the cold wooden floor, despite the fact that it was summertime. He looked around his room, and briefly caught a glimpse of his reflection before, "Come out and play, Harry!"

This time the voice was harsh – sinister, even – and deep. To only make the matters worse, it seemed to be getting closer to him, like a stalking jungle cat as it watches the peaceful gazelles grazing, knowing that any second a predator could emerge. As well, it didn't seem to have to stop and look around, to make sure that it was coming in the right direction. It was as if it reacted on instincts alone.

Harry glanced back at the mirror, which flashed, showing Harry in a different light. Instead of the infamous lightning bolt scar that adorned his forehead – not due to natural causes, mind you – he had a blazing, raw, Dark Mark sitting on his brow.

He didn't want to see the image of it anymore, as he quickly fled from his room and went into the kitchen to check the clock. To see if it was anybody, or just his imagination – which he hoped it was the latter.

As he crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the person standing in his kitchen. Surely, it couldn't be so; but how many times had he looked at the back of her head and knew that he would know it from anyone else? He leaned to the left to see what the person was doing, only to see the familiar person reading the paper like it was just an ordinary day.

"Ginny?" he asked in disbelief. He walked towards her, amazed, but she didn't respond. "Ginny," he repeated and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

Immediately, Ginny spun around in her chair and glared at him, her brown eyes blazing, with a rapidly growing sinister grin on her face. "Hello," she began, "Harry." Her tone was vicious and oozing with malice, which hinted at all of the possible things that she had done before she was being imprisoned. Harry quickly removed his hand and took several steps back from her.

"Ginny," he started again, but stopped when she put her forefinger on her lips and whispered, "Shh." The twinkle in her eye would have rivaled Dumbledore's, that is, if it had been out of happiness, not out of evil plots and other such things that were most likely bouncing around in her head at the moment.

Harry saw the twinkle sparkle only one more time before her face stretched out in unimaginable ways and rapidly paled, with snakelike slits and a very thin mouth. For a second, Harry was in complete shock, but who could blame him? The single wizard that had caused so much terror and chaos, had been able to get into the flat that held just happened to house the wizard that had long turned into a man that defeated him that one time while he was just merely an infant. Lord Voldemort had finally found a way in.

"Sweet dreams, Harry." A bolt of lightning passed in front of Harry's eyes…

Harry bolted upright from his bed, and feverishly checked his forehead to make sure that he had his own mark. And to his relief, he did.

"It was just… A dream."

All of his sheets were now scattered about the room, or he presumed those were that lumps that were sitting on his floor. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, put his glasses on, grabbed his wand, and muttered, "Lumos!"

He walked down his hall, glancing around each corner, and slowly made his way into his kitchen – which had neither voices nor 'people' occupying it. He walked over to the counter and quickly, but very shakily, made himself a cup of coffee, hoping that it would calm his nerves.

As he drank his coffee, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a red light flashing next to his fireplace. Looking around, he went over to the fireplace and stared at it for a few moments, as if trying to decide what to do with it, now that it was blinking. He tapped his wand on it and clearly said, "Constant Vigilance".

Harry scrunched up his face at the bitter thought of Moody and his team. He'd have to remind himself to change it sometime, as well as the rest of his team's, just so that he wouldn't have to remember it every single time this happened.

As he was pondering the bitter memories, a screen popped up to the right of the blinking light. Harry cocked his head to the left, as if he was determined to get the best view of this blank screen. He then straightened back up, and tapped his wand on the screen.

"Now, let's see what lovely news you have," he bitterly thought out loud as the screen changed to reveal countless lines of text. He sighed at the thought of having to read all of it at this hour of the morning, he took another sip of his coffee before pulling up a small footstool and sitting on it. He bitterly looked at his coffee, as if blaming it for him having to read this excessive amount of data.

He put it down his coffee and looked at it, he then slightly shook his head and lifted it back up to his lips and started reading. He quickly sped over the first line but the second line caused his eyes to grow huge, and at the very start of the third, he slowly dropped his coffee cup, sending shards of glass and scalding hot coffee pooling around his feet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Minerva McGonagall looked through her lesson plans from the previous years. All had notes here and there about the students' abilities. She had been poring over these old notes since seven in the morning, and it was now nearly noon.

If it had been during the school year, she would have been grateful for the silence and the break from explaining things over and over to the students that were having difficulty with their magical abilities. However, it was summer and the absolute quiet was horrifying. The stillness and the hush that seemed to echo in all of the corridors seemed to multiply with great force, consuming all of Hogwarts in one giant gulp. It was almost as if she were afraid of it also swallowing her up, making her mute. It was something that had only grown in size and magnitude as the years piled up with her teaching experience.

She heard a faint knock at the door and looked up curiously. Most of the other Professors were gone here and there for different reasons and usually they didn't cross paths all that much, besides at meals. Sighing, she looked around her desk, found a clean quill, and stuck it in the lesson plan to mark her place. "Come in," she said to the unknown figure.

She waited for a few long moments, refusing to let herself crumble into the outstretched arms of fear. She knew that if she did, the chances of her setting herself free from fear's grasp as were not in her favor.

"It is open," she called again, making her voice harder and stronger. She slowly stood up out of her chair, and dragged her hand around the desk behind her as she made her way to the front of the room.

Taking a quick breath, she opened the door. She raised both of her eyebrows in greeting, sidestepping to let the knocker in. It'd be impossible for her not to let him in, for she could tell by the look in his eyes that he came here with a mission and would die before he would fail on it. "Come in, Sirius," she said, letting him in and shutting the door.

He walked over to the chairs sitting opposite of her desk and looked at the collection of books and spare parchments that were scattered about. His eyes wandered over to a stack of books whose pages had long turned yellow from age and constant use. He looked up to see that she was sitting down in her chair, watching him, and he also sat down.

"Well, it is good to see you again, Minerva," he said in an uncertain tone. Looking at a piece of paper that listed those students who were interested in the more complex courses of Transfiguration. It was relatively new, for he didn't recognize any of the names on the parchment, other then save a few last names.

Minerva looked at him, the hard lines of the past forever etched upon his face, and paused. "Sirius, I know you didn't come to chat about all of the old times. Just say what you have to say."

Sirius, however, looked as if he had not expected her to be so blunt about his presence and shifted awkwardly. He fumbled with his hands for a moment or two before finding his voice once again. "Well, I actually came here to talk about Harry."

* * *

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	3. Of the Fire that Destroys Us All

Chapter Title: Of the Fire That Destroys Us All

Fire. Crackling fire. That is what all fires seem to be. All consuming another object, inhaling all available oxygen that it can take in. The flames leap up, assimilated into yellows, oranges, and reds and occasionally something else as it consumes its meal. It doesn't matter what the meal is: corpses, leaves, logs, animals, or even itself at times. It doesn't care if you want it to stop for it continues on. As long as materials are obtainable for consumption, it doesn't care.

It won't care at all. People are like that at times. Wizards and witches know it too well. It's the Death Eaters that are truly like fire: crackling, consuming, and constantly moving blazing from an untraceable source of hatred. They thrive on destroying others who do not know any better. When they run out of ones to destroy, they set out on destroying themselves.

Sometimes, it's strange how something so destructive can be necessary. It's easy to forget that you have to have it for the balance. You need the fire to cook and warm the small children, like you need the Death Eaters to balance the scales of the good and the evil. Without evil, how could one judge that something was good?

Silly it seems. You need evil to balance it all out, but you do in an odd way. Someone always has to be evil, no matter if they want to or not. Different views can cause a person to be evil in another's light. 

It was fire that caused mankind to rise out of the caves and into the hut. It was also the reason why so many of mankind – and other species as well – were lost when they forgot how easy it spreads and is more then eager too.

And so it was warming two lone figures in a copse. 

One of them was slouching on an ancient log that had fallen many years before, wearing a heavy black cloak with the hood bunched up, blocking its face, and was idly staring at the heart of the fire and glancing up occasionally at its partner.

The partner was smaller than the other, and was glaring at the fire with an unknown passion. It was a woman, with green eyes and long raven hair. She wasn't pretty at the least, due to a horrific scar that marred the left side of her face, cradling it like a mother cradles her babe. It was long, originating slightly above her brow and extending shortly before her chin, and due to the structure of her face, the scar looked like a crescent moon. It wasn't deep, but was discolored, ranging from a soft pink to a bright crimson.

An unearthly silence, fueled by hate to the highest degree, was between the two, only interrupted by the crackling of the fire that provided the light. In the distance, a lone wolf howled and they realized they did not know of the time.

One of the few perils of being in a forest – or in this case the Forbidden Forest which one would do well to remember the nature of its name – was that it didn't matter what the time may be; for the Forbidden Forest was always dark once you delved into its heart. They were in the middle where it had the darkness of the midnight hour.

It could have been the middle of the day and they would know no difference. Neither would the magical beats that made their home in the forest. They had no form of telling the time, for unlike their Muggle counterparts, for their watches relied upon them knowing the general time. Watches also depended upon their ability to access a magic field that could only be found when there wasn't any other sort of field to interrupt it, and there was already a field in the forest to stop students from entering it.

Eventually, the silence was broken by one of the members. "How do you know my name?" she inquired as she looked up at the person sitting opposite her, only the fire and the darkness separating them.

"The world is smaller then you want it to be, Artemis," her un-welcomed companion said, stressing her name at the end. "You'll find out when you need too."

"You bloody bastard," she hissed.

The figure seemed to be highly amused by her remark. "If you would _think_ for maybe five seconds, you would realize what exactly has happened."

"And what exactly has?" she snapped, her brain racing as she started to list all of those who had a voice and sense of sardonic humor like that. Unfortunately, that didn't narrow it down to all that much.

Her entire year of her House, Slytherin, was left in her mind. Most of them were Death Eaters, or rumored to be involved with the Dark Lord at least one way or another.

"Think about it, Art," the person coolly replied, tilting its head to the side, still concealed by the hood of the heavy cloak. "Besides, you should be grateful that I found you and not another. You'd already be dead if that were the case."

Artemis also tilted her head to the side, and a flame sputtered up, exposing the end of a very prominent nose. A wicked grin appeared on her face, "Well, isn't if it the Potions Master."

"Most likely. And now why don't you think of what just happened a matter of hours ago?"

"You were a greedy arsehole that can't get any woman to willingly come near you other than the times that you just grab them and carry them off through a forbidden forest?"

Snape pulled back his hood and looked at her, one eyebrow cocked, his lips harshly pressed together. 

"No, look at all of the recent happenings."

"Why don't you enlighten me for since the last time I heard news, it was me giving it to the bloody Ministry."

"Are you that thick, Sinistra?" Snape snapped, his patience growing thin. "You were told to tell the Ministry that horrific lie, and then walk in the forest - "

" – Where I would then meet somebody to escort me back to the castle," Artemis finished, becoming how aware she was acting thickly, too much like a Gryffindor for her preferences. "Well, then who was that one that I saw before you grabbed me?"

"I killed him," Snape said, looking at the fire, causing half of his face to be aglow and the rest to be sunken in the shadows. "I had to kill one of my own pupils. Remember Potter's year?" he said, obviously remembering the student in question with nostalgia.

"That year is impossible to forget."

"Well, it was Terry bloody Boot. One of the best Potion students that had come out of the Ravenclaw house in decades. And what did he do? He threw all of that away to be a Death Eater."

"That sounds very familiar," Artemis put in, interrupting his train of thought. She looked at him, and part of her felt sympathy for the wizard that sat before her. Losing a prized pupil was one thing – having to kill that pupil was an entirely different one.

"Why… Why was he here?" Artemis inquired, trying to accept that a boy – no, a full-grown man – whom she had taught for seven years, had been killed slightly before she arrived.

"Well, I had to inform Voldemort," Artemis flinched at his name, "something to explain why I was leaving. I said I was going to meet up a traveler that knew of some people who had some Dark Arts artifacts. Then Boot decided to volunteer himself to guard my back incase the person was rather fishy.

"I couldn't argue with him. It would only rouse up suspicion, and I have enough of that already going on debating over my current status. So, we apparated – I told him to trust me as I didn't want him to splinch himself, again – and then when we didn't see anyone for a good hour or so, he decided that he was going to off me. To make his story believable he would claim that the bloke I was meeting did it and he barely made it out.

"Oh, he would have made a wonderful Slytherin. If only he weren't so stuck in those books, but yes. It was either him, or me and it just had to be him. Who knows what would have happened to you if I had lost."

"Is that a notion that you actually care for my well-being?"

Snape smirked, "Are you mad? You're annoying and have your head stuck up in the clouds all the time. No, if you did disappear, Trelawney would have your spot as well as her current position, and I am not having her as my second head."

"Aw, you're no fun at all," Artemis joked half-heartedly. "But I know my Slytherins would miss me to no end. And to think, Trelawney as your second head when she was in _Hufflepuff_."

"Maybe I could arrange for Hooch to take that spot, if the situation becomes that bad."

Artemis glared at him, a bit taken aback at his levity.

"Well, why haven't we returned," she asked, trying to steer clear of topics that involved her death.

"Simple reason. I haven't made plans regarding how to take Boot's body back."

"Tell the story that he would have told."

Snape looked at her, and raised an eyebrow. "Do you think He would buy that story for one second? He probably wouldn't have bought it from Boot. Unlike some people, I actually know how He acts, and the nature of His plans. He is a very intelligent man, Sinistra. He's Albus' equal on many levels, and there are some that Albus falls horribly short to him.

"Knowing the nature of His followers is one of those things," he finished with a sober note.

* * *

Some things never seem as if they can only rub you other than one way: wrong.

Hermione and Ron had arrived to see mass chaos and not a speck of order for miles around. 

The instant setting was something out of a graphic muggle horror movie – which was considered "the norm" for many ever since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned to power with the aid of Harry Potter, involuntarily. Not many believed that Harry was used to help bring back the feared Dark Lord, but there were enough people that gave him unspoken fear and many privately thought that he should be locked up – or even put to death – for bringing back such a _monster_.

It was northern Scotland, but it appeared that it only deserved to exist in the nightmares of all. The normally green grass was trampled down on the earth and dirt was clumped together in small heaps where a person running across the slick grass kicked it up. Trees were being pushed down, in attempts of to secure the area and the sky seemed darker than the night.

Groups of wizards and witches were hurrying close together, only having a couple of torches and their wand light as their guide, as it appeared the stars were not going to shine that night.

Ron and Hermione, who now called each other 'Weasley' and 'Granger' for the moment, quickly walked over to Mad-Eye Moody, pushing aside those who were in plain Auror robes.

Moody gave them what could be considered a grin if his eyes didn't appear to be constantly narrowed and glaring at the ones on his staff, a small group of wizards and witches that looked worse for the wear at the moment and were quietly conversing among themselves.

"What do you have so far?" Ron inquired from Moody, easily steering the older wizard away from the rest of the moving mass of wizards and witches. Hermione was on the other side of Moody, glancing over her shoulder to check the situation behind them every so often. 

Age had not been kind to Moody; in fact it had been downright cruel to the powerful wizard. He didn't look like a cheery old man, he looked like a young man trapped inside a vessel that was beneath his abilities and had to constantly limit himself. His forehead was full of wrinkles that were constantly shifting as he talked or made a movement.

"Not much, Weasley," he grunted, his magical eye swiveling around incessantly, "hardly anything if you want the dirt truth." He glanced over at Hermione, who was at the moment glaring at a huddle of wizards who were looking over at them.

"Was it . . . Him?"

Moody looked over at Hermione, his eyes instinctually narrowed, giving away what happened. She had heard countless of stories from older Aurors that worked with Moody in the first war and knew his body language and passed it down to the trainees, to warn them of when he was in a bad or dangerous mood.

"We don't know for certain, but I'd bet my magical eye on it."

Hermione nodded soberly and glanced over at Ron who looked as if he had just eaten his shoe. She bit her lower lip, a habit that she admitted was horrible and was as much of a trademark as her bushy hair in the ponytail was.

"Go back to your team, Moody," Ron said taking a few strides and looking around. The night air was thick and had moisture in it; it would rain by morning. Hermione looked at him, and offered him a comforting smile. She walked up by him and patted his arm.

"C'mon, you don't have to go in if you don't want too. I can borrow someone –"

"No, I'm coming. You always said that you could only conquer your fears by facing them, and it's time for me to face mine." Ron said, biting down hard after he finished.

"Well, let's go," she said in a quiet voice, one she hardly ever used now. She and Ron were held as the two most trusted people, in Harry's eyes, had on Harry's team and they were constantly giving orders: yelling and screaming were commonplace, but whispering things that carried emotional baggage was extremely rare.

Ron turned and glanced at the fortress called Azkaban, the place, which all wizards feared, and the prisoners would lose their sanity within weeks. Dementors were not caring creatures, robbing them from their past, and some would argue their soul.

The fortress was everything that was described in horror stories where the villain would live and make a plot that would endanger everyone. It was tall, intimidating and was built out of ancient stone that you never could find any more. Part of the towers were crumbling and the walls surrounding it had holes where the Earth had shifted or someone had blasted the hole with their wand on a dare, or it was what had caused this state of alarm.

This place had torn apart families, lovers, mothers and fathers, brother and sisters, and friends. They were thrown together, with no thought about their concerns or what to do with the other prisoners that were already held hostage by their own memories and deeds. It wouldn't matter anyway, since they would soon become lost in their own mind just like the older ones.

However, there were always a few that took long to break, or somehow kept a thread of their sanity. No matter, they died like all humans did - only they had no one to grieve over their corpse as it was laid down into the earth where it would become what it once was, and they had the Dementors to watch their body being lowered down into it. They, the Dementors, did not care, for they would get another human to replace the one that had passed on. That was the way of life they all knew and would repeat until the end of time, as they understood it.

Ron shuddered at the thought of this . . . He looked to the side, to where trees were falling down. Nothing like this had ever happened before, save the escape of Sirius Black but this was worse than that, far worse because it was a veritable threat.

"We should start searching," Hermione said interrupting his thoughts.

Silently, they walked back to the fortress of Azkaban to inspect the damages caused by the one thing that they all dreaded: the escape of all of the prisoners and Dementors of Azkaban.

* * *

Hours later, Ron and Hermione arrived at the Ministry. Both were yawning and covered in mud, and in Ron's case blood. He had slipped in a cell and his robe caught the blood of an inmate who had clawed himself in personal agony.

Hermione's hair was in disarray, and Ron's was rumpled. They looked as if they just rolled out of bed instead of spending the entire night up at Azkaban.

They wordlessly passed through several corridors and went into another room that was dark. They fumbled around, bumping into chairs and tables for a couple of moments until they reached the fireplace, which looked as if it hadn't been used in years.

Ron grabbed a yellow drawstring pouch out from his robes and took out a pinch of green powder and offering it to Hermione, who did the same.

"_Incendio_," Ron muttered, pointing his wand at the fireplace where brilliant flames instantly jumped up from the hearth.

Hermione winced at the sudden change in environment. She didn't like that wizards and witches – she even – had the power to change almost anything that they wished with a flick of a wand and a phrase. It bothered her since the beginning of her life as a witch and would most likely continue to do so. 

Ron threw the powder into the fireplace and muttered, "Green light," and then jumped into the flames, disappearing instantly.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, the hairs of her back erect with alarm. She paused for a moment, her ears attentively straining to hear something that could be the cause of her paranoia.

She heard nothing and didn't see anything move – although she never did have good eyesight in dark places – move so she turned back to the fireplace that the fire was roaring as if it had been blazing for hours and never planned to stop.

She threw in her floo powder and then heard a chair being pulled out in the room. She gave the room a sinister grin before panic flooded her and she hissed, "Green light!" prior to running into the fire and disappearing.

* * *

Harry was sitting in his usual chair, staring across the coffee table at the couch that contained Ron and Hermione. A foul taste was in his mouth, one that he hadn't had in his mouth for years. Not since . . . He shook his head and tried to force himself to listen to Ron who was rattling on about something.

Ever since he had had that dream and then read . . . but was the dream a hint? He was considered this. How many times do people dream of their ex-girlfriend-turned-Death-Eater landing in their kitchen and then learn that she's disappeared?

". . . Anyway, all of the prisoners were found huddling behind the fortress and the Dementors were long gone. They're all in St. Mungo's except for Ginny." He spat out her name as if it were fatal poison.

Hermione was silently leaning back on the couch, looking at Ron and taking in all of the information he was babbling about, when and a small grin appeared on her face. 

". . . Is anybody listening to me?!" Ron cried out, realizing that he had been talking for well over ten minutes without anybody listening except for himself. He silently fumed as he looked over to Harry, who looked as if he was trying to solve the mystery of the universe, and Hermione was pondering the ceiling of Harry's flat, smiling distantly.

Harry straightened up in his chair and looked over at Ron, "Well, we do know one thing about her -"

"Two things actually," Hermione interrupted, as she snapped her head over to Harry.

Harry nodded, "Two things. She'll be looking for Voldemort," even now Hermione and Ron still flinched slightly, "if he wasn't the one who caused her disappearance, and . . . well, me."

"Do we set up a trap? Wait for him to make the first move? Have you go flouncing around London with a big bulls eye on your arse?"

Ron and Harry gave small chortles at Hermione's vein attempt at to lighten the current situation. If there was one thing that Hermione was far from perfect at, it was trying to tell a joke - but she had improved. 

"I don't know," Harry said weakly, his tone uncertain and sounding as if it belonged to a lost child.

Ron gave Hermione and uneasy glance an shrugged. His eyes were pleading and she shook her head and stared at the coffee table, tracing the markings of the wood with her eyes. Up and down the table, the same paths always having the same ending and nothing ever came up that wasn't already there.

"Harry," Hermione slowly said after a couple of tense moments, "should we join –"

"No, don't even suggest it, Hermione. They threw us out and we are not going back. _Ever_." Harry's words had a bitterness and his tone was hard, unlike the one that he had used moments before.

Ron sighed and Hermione got up and walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She looked at her reflection in a small pool of water that was on the table. 

Hermione quickly got up and went over into the kitchen, and looked in the cupboards until she found a tall glass and set it down on the counter. She paused for a few minutes, listening to the idle chatter of her two best friends in the room a few feet away.

She shook her head and took out a tall phial out of a pocket of her cloak and stared at it and then tilted it to the side and watched the thick red liquid shift as the phial changed. She quickly set it on the counter and filled up her glass with some water.

Hermione braced herself as she took the contents of the phial in one long gulp and then drank the water after it. She let out her breath and pocketed the now empty phial in the same pocket that she removed it from.

Her eyes fluttered over to the clock and she made a mental note of the time before she washed the glass that she used with magic and set it back in the cupboard.

Hermione straightened out her cloak, although it wasn't hanging wrongly in the first place, and re-joined Harry and Ron in the other room.

* * *

Sirius exited Hogwarts with a heavy heart. His meeting with Minerva had not gone the way that he had hoped it would. He hated that she wouldn't listen to him. He was being torn in two, one telling him to join Remus and all of those who he had known before his imprisonment and the other saying that he needed to protect Harry all that he could.

He swung over on his motorcycle, bringing the engine to life and quickly leaving the castle in the dust. No matter what it was, it always seemed less of a problem when he rode his bike, letting the wind tangle and run its fingers through his long hair. 

He was at Hogsmeade in a couple of minutes and took the path that traversed it, hoping to pass as an unruly teenager instead of the madman Sirius Black to the residents of Hogsmeade. Luck was on his side, as no one paid him too much attention and he was soon leaving Hogsmeade in the dust as well.

Only a couple more miles until he would arrive at the place that he would reside until they could think of a better plan. Only a few more miles, and yet it felt as if he was traveling to the other side of the globe, leaving everything that he cared about behind.

* * *

Through the mists of the crystal ball, Sibyl Trelawney gazed and found several different people that she had been searching for. She would have patted herself on the back, but that would have caused her to break the link that she had with her crystal ball. She was especially cautious because reestablishing the link she now had could prove to be impossible, forcing her to lose access to images that she had only a moment before.

She made out the form of Rudra Sprout, sitting in a greenhouse taking notes about a plant. She forced herself to sharpen the image and to hear the sounds, as if she really were there.

A large snowy owl tapped on the door to the greenhouse and Rudra set aside her notes to let in the bird. It perched on her shoulder and she awkwardly untied the piece of parchment that was attached to its leg. 

She quickly skimmed through it, and Sibyl thought that it gave the older woman a look of alarm as she quickly pulled out a piece of bread from a nearby sack and scribbled a reply on the back of the parchment, giving it to the owl.

The picture wavered and Sibyl gave a cry of alarm as she lost the image completely, and she was left alone in her dismal tower. She gave a heavy sigh, disappointed that she couldn't hold the image any longer. She didn't have enough energy to check up on the last person on her list, which meant she would have to do that tomorrow, when she had rested and more had energy to spare.

She could only hope that he would spare her, unlike the fire that had already consumed her.


End file.
